As the Liquor Flows

by Angela Christina Archer

A few times, I caught his eyes fluttering with a deep need of sleep. His head would droop until his chin rested upon his chest. Each time a loud noise would cause him to jerk awake and slap the sides of his face.

  Trip after trip, I trudged back and forth up and down a concrete ramp with my arms full. Sweat dripped down my neck. My muscles ached and trembled under the weight of each crate I carried. The bottles clanked together, the rattles echoed off the brick stones on the outside and inside of the warehouse.

  “You sure aren’t much help, are you?” Bones wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. He yanked a flask from the back pocket of his pants, leaned against the truck, and chugged several gulps. “Man, I’m beat. Finish the rest.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Don’t even think about giving me any lip or else I’ll just leave your ass here.”

  I opened my mouth to retort, but the wicked glare in his eyes stopped me. His threat wasn’t just meaningless words that he uttered for kicks.

  One by one, I carried the rest of the crates in until finally, weak and exhausted, I slid the last one in place.

  “It’s about damn time,” Mr. Smith grunted through his words. “I got stuff to do, ya know? I can’t be sitting around here all morning long while you take forever.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He waved off my apology, shoved me through the barn-like doors, and slammed them shut behind me.

  I limped to the truck. Every muscle on fire and tight with a pain I’d never felt before.

  “Did you get the clams?” Bones asked.

  “What?”

  “The clams . . . the clams.” His voice escalated as though he believed the higher volume would make me understand him more. “You know the dough, the money, the bacon, the suds, the salad.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Well, then, let me explain it for you. We deliver them the hooch and they pay us for the hooch. Therefore, you go collect the clams. It’s as simple as that, you twit.”

  “If you want the clams, you go get it yourself.” I strode around the front of the truck. My footsteps pounded the ground.

  “Oh heck no, you ain’t done.” Bones flung himself across the seat and held the handle of the passenger door, so I couldn’t open it.

  “Let go.”

  “Listen if we go back without that money we are both as good as six feet in the ground. You got that? We can’t leave until we get paid, so go collect the dough.”

  “But I don’t know how.”

  “Well, then I suggest you figure it out so we can leave.”

  A faint growl rumbled through my chest. I should have known he’d do this, should have suspected he’d pull such a stunt. His actions all night had already proven his character type.

  My hot breath clouded my face in the night air as I marched to the door and knocked. My clammy hands fidgeted with one another while I waited.

  Seconds ticked by. No footsteps thumped upon the floor on the other side of the door, only a dead silence that writhed through my gut. Mr. Smith hadn’t heard me.

  My hand rapped harder. Another minute passed and nothing. No one opened the door and not even a sound echoed from the other side.

  “Can you get a move on it before someone catches us?” Bones yelled from the truck as he blew cigarette smoke out the window.

  I began to bang against the wood with my fist. My knuckles ached and my beaten skin flushed a bright shade of red in the eerie stillness in the night air. Surely, the man hadn’t left. I’d just seen him only moments ago.

  The door flew open and I inhaled a breath, nearly choking on my own spit.

  “What do you want?” Mr. Smith’s eyes narrowed.

  Cough. “I need.” Cough. “To collect.” Cough. “The money.”

  “What money?”

  I held my hand up, silently asking for a moment to control myself.

  “I don’t have all night woman.”

  “I’m . . . I’m sorry.” Cough. “I need the money for the delivery.”

  He spat his chewing tobacco on the ground, nearly hitting my shoe. With a grunt, he motioned me inside and I followed his lumbering gate through the warehouse to a tiny office in the corner.

  The dampened moldy musk tickled my nose along with the inch of dust that covered the desk and desk lamp.

  Mr. Smith yanked one of the drawers open and fetched an envelope, a squeal grated from the rusted hinges.

  “I’ve got to count the crates first before I just hand this over to a woman.”

  “But you already counted them. I watched you while we were unloading them.”

  “Is that some sort of a threat?” With his words, his anger flared. His once round belly sucked in and his once hunched shoulders drew straight and tense as he puffed his chest.

  “No it’s not a threat. I just thought you’d counted them.”

  “Well, I need to count them again.” He stomped past me. His body bumped into mine and nearly knocked me off my feet.

  I closed my eyes for a second. How much longer would this take?

  Thump. Thump . . . CRASH.

  A crate tumbled to the ground and several bottles shattered, spraying liquid in all directions. Through the dim light, the silhouette of another man stood over Mr. Smith’s body lying motionless on the ground.

  The stranger glanced at me, tucking his bat-like stick into the inside pocket of his blazer.

  I slapped my hand over my mouth to stifle the slight scream from leaving my lips. My blood ran cold through my body.

  “He won’t hurt you,” a voice said behind me.

  I spun on my heel.

  A match flicked and hissed. The tiny flame grew inside a lantern that within seconds illuminated the face of another man sauntering toward me.

  “I won’t hurt you either.” His thick Sicilian accent rolled across the letter ‘r’. Dressed in an elegant suit, he approached from the shadows. His black hair glistened in the orange glow as he lit a cigarette with the same match, took a long drag, and blew the puff of smoke in the air.

  “Who are you?” My voice trembled over every syllable. “What is going on?”

  Bones honked the truck horn with three short beeps in an effort to spur me my pace.

  Please, come and find me. Please, just come and find me.

  “I hope you are having a pleasant day, Miss Ford. Nothing too strenuous or stressful, I trust, as you made your delivery tonight.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “I have my ways.” He began to circle around me. His shoes silently glided against the floor. “I was actually quite surprised to find a woman on the payroll for Vincent Giovanni.”

  “So what if I am a woman?”

  Don’t show your fear. Do not show your fear.

  “You’ll have to forgive my intrigue into his choice. A woman running rackets instead of working in one of his parlors is quite interesting.” He paused and flashed a snake-like smile. “Tell me, how much does your brother owe Mr. Giovanni for his mistake?”

  “How do you know about Frank?”

  “Never underestimate anyone you meet in this business, Miss Ford, especially me.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m actually quite offended you don’t know . . . or at least have a guess.”

  I glanced at the other man who silently stood feet from us, listening to every word. His broad shoulders squared in the shadows and with his arms crossed in front of his body, he rocked his weight from his heals to his toes.

  “I don’t really know anyone in this business. I’m only here to help my brother.”

  “Well, then, I suppose I shall be of some help to you when I take control of New York.” His head cocked to one side. He began to pace around me once more as he pressed his hands together as though to pray, but instead tapped his index fingers against his lips. “That is if you help me in return.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Metal clunked against metal as the delivery
truck door shut outside. Finally, Bones had enough waiting for me, and apparently, planned to come after me.

  The bodyguard yanked the baton from his lapel.

  “No, please,” I begged. “Please don’t hurt him.”

  The guard halted, facing his boss with one eyebrow raised.

  “I suppose we shall continue this conversation another day. Besides, we have business to see to elsewhere.” With the flick of the man’s wrist, his bodyguard trotted past me and disappeared in the darkness of the building. “Good day, Miss Ford. Please give my regards to Catalano.”

  “Wait,” I called after him. “Who are you?”

  “Mr. Stephano Maranzano.”

  I stumbled backwards into the crates behind me, pressing against the mess of wood and nails as he vanished in the darkness.

  Vincent’s words haunted me. The man he wanted dead had stood mere feet from me, wanted for destroying his warehouse, for killing several men, and for costing him hundreds of thousands of dollars.

  “What the bloody hell did you do?” Bones screech echoed through the building.

  I flinched and spun around to face him as he stood over the unconscious body of Mr. Smith.

  “What did you do?”

  “Um . . .” My eyes danced around the room. Excuses evaded me. Reasons evaded me. All thought and words drifted off into a distance that I couldn’t reach.

  “Are you seriously going to just stand there and say nothing?”

  “He . . . he said he needed to count the crates and bottles before he’d give me the money.”

  “So you attacked him? I wanted you to hurry, but he could have counted them again if he wanted. Geez, lady.”

  “I didn’t attack him.” Think, Evelyn, think. He thought we cheated him. No. He collapsed from . . . I don’t know, but why would I know? Still, collapsed, yes, that might work. “He . . . he just collapsed.”

  “He just collapsed?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps it was a heart attack or he tripped. I don’t know. One minute he walked away from me and the next minute he was lying on the ground.” The lie prickled against my guilt. “Can you check to see if he’s all right?”

  Bones crouched down beside the old man and pressed his fingers against the nape of his neck.

  “He’s got a pulse and he’s breathing.”

  “Should we telephone someone?”

  “Who are we gonna telephone? The coppers?” He scooped up the envelope, counted the dollar bills inside, and tucked it in the back pocket of his pants.

  My clammy fingers intertwined as my hands fidgeted with one another and I glanced over my shoulder toward the darkness.

  Did the two men continue to lurk in the shadows while they watched us?

  “We should get out of here before he wakes up,” Bones said.

  “We can’t just leave him here. Shouldn’t we make sure he’s all right?”

  “Yes we can just leave him here. Now get in the truck.”

  Bones shoved me toward the door. Sickness swirled in my stomach.

  Would Vincent find out about what happened tonight? Would he find out about Stephano Maranzano?

  FIFTEEN

  MY DRESSING ROBE slipped from my shoulders and dropped to the floor of my bedroom. The white, silky satin bunched at my bare feet in a heap.

  I brushed through my curls, letting them bounce around my face. My headache still pounded as my stomach twisted in more knots. Not even the long, hot bath I’d taken had calmed my raw nerves.

  I examined my naked reflection in the mirror. Faint purple bruises, tender to the touch, flecked my arms, chest, and collarbone from hauling the crates two nights ago.

  The bedroom door flung open.

  “Evelyn?”

  I screeched at the same time Max noticed my lack of clothing.

  “Sorry!” He spun around, but his haste faired too quickly for his feet, and he bashed his face into the door that had rebounded from the force he’d used to shove it open.

  A grunt of pain and a couple of curse words shot through the air.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” With his back to me, his words muffled by his hand clasped against the bridge of his nose. “At least, I think I am. I’m sorry. I should have knocked first.”

  “I was just about to get dressed after a bath.”

  “I’ll wait outside in the hallway.” Before I could agree or disagree, he disappeared, shutting the door behind him.

  Heat prickled through my skin as I caught my reflection in the mirror.

  Please tell me he didn’t see anything. Please, please, please.

  I ripped a dress from one of the hangers in the closet and slipped the material up over my body. With each tug on the sapphire silk, I tried to shake off my humiliation.

  I crossed the room and opened the door, letting Max inside.

  “I’m sorry I just barged in,” he muttered.

  “Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”

  He smiled as he softly touched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, it hurts. I suppose I deserve the pain for not thinking to knock first.”

  The amusement in his tone made me giggle as I shut the door.

  “You seemed upset, though. Is everything all right?”

  He exhaled a deep sigh. “Vinny called me in for a meeting this afternoon with Bones.”

  “Why?”

  “It seems there were a few issues with the delivery the two of you made the other night.”

  A hot nervous twitch tickled through my body as I sauntered away from him.

  “What issues? We delivered the crates. I collected the money, and then I turned in the envelope later that morning. Every last dollar was accounted for, I swear.”

  “And what about your face to face meeting with Stephano Maranzano?”

  I spun around to face Max, clutching my throat. “I didn’t meet with him. He stepped out of the shadows and began talking to me. I didn’t know who he was until he told me.”

  “That’s not the story Bones told me and that’s not the story Bones told Vinny.”

  “Bones wasn’t there. He was in the truck.”

  “Well, apparently, he wasn’t, and after the two of you left the shipment vanished.”

  “But Mr. Smith watched us unload it. Can’t he can vouch for it?”

  “Mr. Smith remembers you unloaded it, however, he also remembers waking up on the ground with a rather large bump on the back of his head.”

  “I didn’t hit him, the man with Mr. Maranzano did, and I didn’t purposely meet with him. You have to believe me.”

  “I do believe you. I do. I had quite the heated argument with Bones at the warehouse because I knew you couldn’t be involved with any of it.”

  “Did Vincent say anything?”

  Max shook his head. “He told me to leave before I could speak to him. I have no idea what he’s thinking or where he is.”

  I pressed my fingertips into my temples, messaging the skin as I began to pace. “What did Bones tell you?”

  “He told us that he caught you conspiring with Maranzano and he thinks you helped him steal the crates. He said he found you hovering over Mr. Smith lying unconscious on the floor of the warehouse.”

  A knock pounded on the bedroom door.

  I flinched.

  “Who is it?” Max asked.

  “It’s Arthur.”

  Max opened the door to the trusted butler, who nodded a quick greeting, but remained in the doorway without coming inside, his expression amused as his eyes danced between us.

  “Dinner is served, Miss Ford.”

  “I’m not hungry right now, Arthur.”

  “But Mr. Giovanni is waiting for you in the dining room.”

  Max and I glanced at one another.

  “He’s here?” Max asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The room began to spin and my lungs tightened, barely able to breathe.

  Max cast a glance toward the ceiling, blowing out a deep breath.
“She’ll be down in a moment.”

  “I’ll let him know.”

  Before Arthur could leave, Max grabbed his arm and the two men lingered near the door whispering words I couldn’t hear, not that I could have comprehended much in this moment.

  I fetched my shoes and slipped into the black leather heels. My clammy, trembling fingers caught on the straps that now felt like they were three sizes too small.

  I stumbled toward Max who waited for me by the door. As I reached him, his hands slid up the bare skin of my neck and cradled my face. He inched closer to me. His eyes burned into mine with a fierce determination.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you.” He kissed my forehead, and then met my gaze again. “Do you trust me?”

  Unable to utter a sound, I nodded.

  “I’ll walk you downstairs.”

  My body trembled with each step down the long hallway to the staircase. Questions, doubts, fears, all burdened the thoughts in my mind. What if Vincent doesn’t believe that I’m innocent? What if he believes I conspired with his rival, a rival he wanted in a box, laid six feet in the ground?

  I stopped at the bottom of the staircase before stepping off the last step. My feet were no longer able to move. The frightened girl inside me screamed loudly, clawing her way through my terror with desperation.

  “Evelyn?” Max beckoned me, and yet, I didn’t listen.

  His voice was far too distant sounding in my fuzzy mind as my eyes focused on the stairs, tracing the gray pattern that swirled through the snow white marble for a moment.

  “Evelyn?”

  “I can’t be here anymore. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

  “You can’t leave.”

  I closed my eyes. Tears threatened. “Why?”

  Max reached for me. “Evelyn, you have to stay here for now. If you leave, then there is no chance Vinny will believe your side of the story. Do you understand me? Not to mention, you have to stay here until you’ve helped your brother.”

  “Why can’t I stay with you?” I clutched the lapels of his blazer, so tight, my knuckles turned white with my grip. My eyes begged, pleading with him to listen and agree with me.

  Agony swam through him. “You can’t”

  “Why?”

  Hesitation brewed in his irises. A reason seemed to sit on the verge of his lips, and yet, he couldn’t utter the words.